


In His Arms

by SierraNovembr



Series: Bucky Barnes learns to be loved [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hair Braiding, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Snowed In, Tony Stark Bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraNovembr/pseuds/SierraNovembr
Summary: If life were any kind of fair, there would be a fire, crackling merrily and lighting Tony’s eyes with warmth.  Maybe Bucky would be content enough to lean against Tony just for the joy of touching him.[For my Tony Stark Bingo square S4: Snowed In]





	In His Arms

Tony throws the deadbolt with a satisfying finality and shoots Bucky a pleased grin. “There! Safe house secure. Now we just have to wait for our ride. Two, maybe three hours tops.” His cheeks are rosy where they peek out over his scarf, and a few snowflakes are clinging to his eyelashes. Bucky shivers, and he doesn’t know if it’s due to leftover mission adrenaline, the relative warmth of their shelter, or the look of happiness on Tony’s face.

Bucky returns the smile. He’s looking forward to spending the morning with Tony.

Eight hours later, neither of them is smiling as they watch the blizzard roar around the house. Power went out shortly after the storm blew up, but the problem is somewhere further up the grid; Tony can’t do anything from here.

Here, where they are going to be stuck until the roads can be cleared. Given the severity of the storm, it could be several days. The team isn’t willing to blow this particular safe house unless absolutely necessary. Since there’s a good supply of food and water, there’s likely no Quinjet rescue in their future.

There’s also a small space heater plugged into an emergency power supply. The two of them are pressed together under a blanket, shuffling as close as they can get to the heat and watching the snow swirl through the window. If life were any kind of fair, there would be a fire, crackling merrily and lighting Tony’s eyes with warmth. Maybe Bucky would be content enough to lean against Tony just for the joy of touching him.

Maybe he could be brave enough to press Tony against the floor, blanket the man with kisses and Bucky’s own body, in the romantic glow.

Instead, Bucky shivers, just on the edge of being too cold. They eat protein bars for dinner and trade small talk and Bucky doesn’t reach out to tuck away the curl of hair that’s fallen forward into Tony’s face.

They take turns braving the chill of the bathroom. Bucky goes first and then tries to make them a nest on the patch of floor nearest to the heater. Couch cushions, their coats and one warm blanket are all that he finds, so they’ll have to do. Bucky beds down, leaving a space for Tony to settle next to the heater.

His teeth are chattering in the dropping evening temperature before Tony emerges. Bucky waits for him to slot in beside the heater – that’s why he left the space – but Tony nudges him with his foot and says, “Scoot.”

Bucky rolls over to stare into Tony’s face. His confusion must be obvious, but all Tony does is roll his eyes and kick Bucky a little harder in the shoulder.

The rational part of Bucky _knows_ it wasn’t an attack, but…it’s cold. It’s cold, and Bucky is so tired. He hasn’t actually slept in a few days, laying the groundwork for their reconnaissance before Tony flew out to meet him. It’s cold and the darker parts of his brain, the parts that he tries to convince himself that he’ll never fall into again, are too close to the surface. Close enough that when Tony kicks him, Bucky has a knife in his hands and has identified the three quickest ways to disable the man standing over him before he can draw his next breath.

Bucky freezes, every muscle seizing up briefly before he hastily shoves the knife back into his leg holster. His hands are shaking so badly that he manages to _cut himself_ like some kind of fucking cub scout in the process.

Tony frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky swallows, keeps his breathing even despite the fact that his heart wants to jump out of his throat. What the hell is wrong with him? “You should be closer to the heater.”

“You have a hunk of metal attached to your body, don’t be stupid.” Tony kneels down and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulder, pushing and shoving. He wouldn’t have much luck actually _moving_ Bucky, but his mind is still stuttering a little over what he’d almost done and Bucky’s body moves anyway. He shifts over to the edge of the couch cushion and Tony drops down beside him. He wraps his arms around him and presses his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky hardly dares to breathe, because he hadn’t let himself – he hadn’t realized that they would have to – to _cuddle_ to preserve body heat and make it through the night. Despite all his daydreaming earlier, Bucky failed to understand that he would get to fall asleep with Tony - _Tony_ \- in his arms.

Of course, the man only manages to stay still for all of about twelve seconds before his hands are tapping away at Bucky’s chest. Bucky lets out a soft sigh, trying to relax into the warm pocket they have created, but he can’t stop the way that his arms tighten around Tony periodically. Pretty much any time that his exhausted brain insists that he heard something outside. Or chooses to show him a truly _delightful_ picture show of the injuries he could have inflicted on the precious man beside him. Or, more agonizing still, insists on imagining that Tony is curling closer, that he’s happy to be here with Bucky.

Long minutes pass, and Bucky is no closer to sleep. He regulates his breathing, trying to force his body to go into rest mode, but he still feels like a coiled spring, like a loaded gun just waiting to go off, and Tony will be the casualty.

Tony makes a grumbly little noise and starts playing with his hair and Bucky can’t help the soft groan that slips out on his next exhale. The touch of Tony’s long, talented fingers on Bucky’s scalp is like a drug. Slowly, his muscles loosen. He focuses on the little movements of Tony’s body against his, the way his chest expands as he breathes, the way his arms shift around to get better access to Bucky’s hair.

His last thought before finally dropping off to sleep is that he actually feels _warm_.

*******************

He’s in the bathroom the next morning before Bucky notices his new hairstyle in the mirror. It’s all pulled to the side in a single braid, and Tony managed to produce an elastic to secure it with, despite their current situation.

He sticks his head back out into the main room. “Tony?”

Tony pushes his Stark Glasses down his nose, peering up at Bucky instead of at the display. “Yes, Elsa?”

Bucky’s fingers drift up to the very tip of the braid before he lets his hand fall back to his side. “Nevermind.”

He wanders back to a more open area and starts running through some exercises. Tony flops down in front of him while Bucky is doing push-ups and watches, his eyes flicking up and down to follow Bucky’s progress. It’s adorable and Bucky has to work a lot harder to keep pushing up for the next rep than is really acceptable for a super soldier.

“Tell me something, Bucky.”

Bucky hums. “What?”

“Tell me something you’ve always wanted out of life. Something you want to see or do or be or taste.” He licks his lip, just a little, when he says the last word. Bucky wants to push forward just another foot, just enough to _taste_ that lip himself. He swallows the urge and adds a clap to each push-up.

Tony watches with open appreciation for another few moments, then wheedles, “C’mon, soldier, there’s gotta be something. Tell me. They say confession is good for the soul.”

Bucky swallows a derisive snort at that. He doesn’t want to get into a debate about the state of his soul at the moment. Or ever. He switches to sit-ups, watching out of the corner of his eye as Tony pushes the Stark Glasses back into place to resume whatever he’d been working on.

A few minutes pass before Tony reports, “The snowfall’s slowing down. They’ll probably have the plows out in another hour or so. Better than we thought.”

Bucky nods, acknowledging Tony’s words, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Farming.”

Tony gives him a sharp, interested look, but doesn’t comment. Eventually, Bucky stops what he’s doing. He lies on the ground, staring at the expanse of white ceiling above him. Tony squirms over until he is lying beside Bucky, close enough that their shoulders brush on each breath.

“I had an Uncle who moved to Ohio, started a farm there. He always seemed happy.”

Tony doesn’t answer, just hums and closes the space between them to tuck his head into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. He’s probably gone back to work, his fingers twitch periodically as if to find a keyboard. Bucky lets the silence sink into his mind. They don’t move away from each other until a soft beep from Tony’s glasses lets them know a car is on the way.


End file.
